


flowers

by bigspoonnoya



Series: viktuuri have sex in canon [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Emotional Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Phone Sex, Reunion Sex, Rimming, Skype Sex, in a low key way, wow it seems like there's a lot of sex in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9275864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigspoonnoya/pseuds/bigspoonnoya
Summary: Yuuri arrives in Russia. He and Viktor have a lot of catching up to do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this one goes out to my mans jack. he loves viktuuri fucking, so, you know.

There were flowers on the bed.

There were flowers throughout the apartment. Quite honestly, it made Yuuri wonder where Viktor had found such a variety of flowers in Russia in the dead of winter. He must’ve had a very good florist. This was a strange thought to be having as he entered Viktor’s bedroom—their bedroom, he supposed—for the first time. Because he’d moved here. To _Russia_.

“Where are all my boxes?”

Viktor was leaning against the doorjamb. “I already unpacked them.” He smiled softly at Yuuri. In his sweater and lounge pants and thick socks, he looked soft all over. “I wanted it to feel like home the moment you stepped in.”

Yuuri’s throat felt tight. He glanced back around the room. It was a nice thought, trying to make this place feel like home, though it looked so different from his parents’ house. It didn’t even remind him of the place he’d had back in Detroit. No, Viktor’s place was darker and grander, but not cold or unwelcoming. Lots of framed photographs and little plants, and vases with bouquets. The whole apartment smelled like flowers, and the ones on the bed were roses. Two pink roses. Yuuri assumed Viktor had selected these specially, because that was the sort of thing Viktor would do, he was ever the choreographer; and surely he was pleased at the way his display had turned out. The bed, perfectly made, the pink petals like a blush against its ivory sheets.

Then Viktor said, “I managed to clear out some space for your things in the closet. A whole corner!”

“Just a corner?” Yuuri poked his head through the door beside the bed. This was not like any closet he’d seen back home—there was a little sofa? Did Viktor come and hang out here? He immediately identified his own clothes and rifled through them. “This is… where’s everything else?”

Viktor appeared behind him, fluttering his eyelashes. “What do you mean?”

“Did you throw out half my clothes?”

“I didn’t _throw out_ anything,” Viktor scoffed, all melodrama. Yuuri stared him down until he cracked. “Oh—I put them in a ‘to reconsider’ pile and hid them. So you can see if you can live without them.”

 _Of course_. “I knew this would happen.” He’d been packing up his clothes with his mother back in his childhood bedroom and he’d _said_ , he’d _predicted_ , that Viktor would attempt to screen them as soon as they arrived. He stuck his finger in Viktor’s face. “ _You_ have to buy me new things if you insist on getting rid of my stuff.”

Predictably, Viktor only looked delighted. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for months. We’ll go shopping tomorrow!”

“Good!”

“Good.”

They stood for a second looking at each other, Viktor grinning, Yuuri fighting a scowl. The smile made the skin around Viktor’s eyes crease. _He’s twenty-eight now._ He’d been twenty-seven, the last time Yuuri saw him. Had those creases been there then? Yuuri couldn’t remember. It frightened him, grasping for that memory and finding nothing. They’d been apart for two months: Viktor resumed training in Russia, and Yuuri took gold at the Japanese Nationals in Osaka, then went home to get everything ready for the move. Yuuri won his gold on Viktor’s birthday and had the medal expressed to St. Petersburg. It was the best gift he could imagine, short of being there.

Yuuri’s scowl was gone. “I missed you.”

Viktor sucked his lip thoughtfully, and took a step toward Yuuri. “Hmm.” Another step. He wound an arm around Yuuri’s waist. “I’m glad.”

“You’re _glad_?”

“Well, I was stuck here all by my lonesome, pining for you. If you didn’t miss me too, I’d be devastated.”

Yuuri laughed into Viktor’s shoulder, looping his arms around Viktor’s neck. They’d hugged when they met up earlier, but it was different—they were cold and in the snow and Yuri Plisetsky was looking on with a glare. Not an environment where you could truly enjoy being held by your fiancé for the first time in weeks, like Yuuri was doing now. He inhaled the smell of cologne—actually, he’d always just assumed it was cologne that made Viktor smell this way, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever _seen_ a bottle of cologne in Viktor’s possession. Perhaps now that they were going to be living together properly, he could uncover that secret.

“Are you tired?” Viktor asked, his voice a rumble by Yuuri’s ear.

“I slept through both flights, so no. I’m going to be up all night, probably.”

He felt Viktor finger the hair at the nape of his neck. “I like that you’re growing it out.”

“I didn’t mean to. I just got busy.”

“I think you should keep going.”

Yuuri pulled out of their hug to make a face at him. “I couldn’t step on Yuri’s toes like that. He’s the one who’s going to have hair like you used to.” Their young friend had made progress at it, too. The three of them had shared a lunch that afternoon, and Yuuri marveled over how much it’d grown even since the GPF.

Viktor pouted, but this wasn’t one of those battles he could win with a pout. “At least keep it at this length, then.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The relative length of his hair seemed like a trivial thing to be worrying about when they hadn’t kissed in six weeks. The realization hit Yuuri hard, too hard maybe, because he felt paralyzed by it. Was Viktor going to kiss him, or did he have to kiss Viktor? And what if _neither_ of them kissed the other, and they just—forgot to kiss ever again? If they didn’t do it immediately, would they be jinxed, unable to kiss for the rest of their lives?

In a single movement Viktor sighed, “Come here,” and pulled him close by the waist, and squashed Yuuri’s fears. It was a nice, soft, easy kiss, Viktor’s hand carefully cradling his cheek, no tongue. But Yuuri needed nothing more than that to feel reassured. “ _Ah_ ,” Viktor exhaled against his lips. “God. I missed you.”

“You _pined_.”

“I did. I pined.” Viktor kissed him again: this one was needier, deeper, open-mouthed. One of his hands traced Yuuri’s side, found his hip, and snuck lower to squeeze Yuuri’s ass. _Ah_. Well, it _was_ a good ass, you couldn’t blame him. Yuuri’s pulse picked up—blood went to his cheeks, and, embarrassingly, a little bit elsewhere? But it’d been a _long time_. Yuuri had done some pining of his own. Funny how he’d been single for years and not felt desperate at all, but being away from Viktor for just a few weeks made him feel starved of intimacy. People could change, of course, but he didn’t think he had. He’d just found something that was worth missing.

And fuck, had he missed it. Need overtook Yuuri, roaring to life in the pit of his stomach. He broke their kiss and twisted away from Viktor, who pouted fiercely and followed him back into the bedroom. “What did I do?” Viktor whined.

Yuuri didn’t bother answering. He went to the open bedroom door and peeked into the main room of the apartment—Makkachin had already curled up on the couch, though he had a huge pillow bed on the ground a few feet away. Yuuri carefully shut the door, hoping not to get the dog’s attention. When he turned around, Viktor was seated on the end of the bed, squinting at him.

“Why did you do that?”

“Makkachin—I didn’t want...”

The blue of Viktor’s eyes flashed brighter for a moment. “You don’t want the dog to walk in on us?” He beckoned Yuuri toward the bed, open armed. Yuuri shuffled toward him, linking his hand with Viktor’s.

“What, you do?”

“No. But it’s cute. You’re shy.”

“Shy?” Yuuri echoed, admittedly a little indignant. The plans he’d developed for Viktor a minute ago didn’t feel _shy_. He shoved Viktor’s shoulder lightly, stepping between his knees, and hooked a finger under his chin to make him look up. Viktor’s lips were still rosy from their earlier kiss, and his cheeks flushed as the smugness drained from his expression, replaced with pleasant surprise at the apparent shift in Yuuri’s demeanor. Yuuri slid his hand from Viktor’s chin to his cheek, and Viktor leaned into his palm, eyes fluttering closed. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of Yuuri’s wrist. The photographs they’d exchanged in their time apart, explicit and otherwise, couldn’t do Viktor justice. To be looking at him again, drinking him in, feeling his touch—what did they used to call him, ‘the hottest bachelor in the world’? All those people on the other side of television screens who thought they knew him, when they had no idea how ecstatic it was to be with him. How beautiful he could be. Only Yuuri would ever understand it fully, and he felt drunk off the privilege. 

Yuuri held Viktor’s face in his hands and leaned down to kiss him. Viktor accepted with a smile, pulling Yuuri closer by his hips. The kiss seemed to open Viktor under him, as if he’d unlocked something, and they fell back to the bed with their mouths moving together. Viktor nipped at Yuuri’s bottom lip and laughed gently, and Yuuri thought, simply, _I could die like this and be happy._ “I missed you,” he gasped, and pressed his lips to Viktor’s jaw. “I missed you.”

“So you mentioned,” Viktor murmured. He ran a hand through Yuuri’s hair while Yuuri peppered kisses along his neck. “Mmm, I like it this length…”

“So you mentioned.”

Yuuri enjoyed the feeling of Viktor’s body underneath him even through the bulkiness of his winter clothes, but he was obsessed with skin, too—like the skin peeking through the gap between Viktor’s sweater and lounge pants, which Yuuri’s fingers found and stroked, pushing the sweater up slightly to test the firmness of his abdomen. You could feel that he’d started training again. Viktor giggled: ticklish. “Aren’t you going to take it off?” he managed, through the fit of breathless laughter. “Come on—”

 “It’s freezing!” The apartment was warmer than outside, but not by enough.

“Won’t you be heating me up?” said Viktor, with what was probably supposed to be a sexy pout, but Yuuri just had to snort.

“If you’re going to insist.” And he tugged the sweater and shirt underneath over Viktor’s head, Viktor sitting up to help the effort.

On some level Yuuri knew he just wanted to be admired for his physical perfection—he liked to be looked at, to display himself like a piece of art. Yuuri was sort of surprised he hadn’t tried to hold one of the roses in his mouth or something. It was silly, but not all that silly, because Yuuri did admire him, straddling Viktor’s hips and taking in the sight of his chest. Yuuri took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. He ran his hands over the skin of Viktor’s torso, feeling the little divots and muscles, Viktor giggling all the while. Here was another thing pictures couldn’t imitate. “Now I’m warm,” said Viktor, and he grabbed Yuuri’s arms, dragging him back down into another kiss.

The more they embraced, the faster and more desperate Viktor became in his kisses. He sucked on Yuuri’s lips and neck and clung to him, fingers clawing at his back, a constant whine under his breath begging for just a little more. _Pined_ was the word he used and Yuuri could feel it, and as much as he related, he couldn’t help but be struck by the irony: after years of pining for Viktor, Viktor pined for him now. Missed him when they were apart, and devoured his kisses like a starving man. To think of that, your childhood crush, the man who taught you to want men, reduced to desperation by his need for you… Yuuri sunk his teeth into the thick muscle of Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor moaned.

Those needy clawing fingers tried to remove Yuuri’s shirt, but he caught Vitkor by the wrists. “You seem impatient,” he said, a rasp in his voice. _I feel drunk_. Some combination of jet lag and lust had him playing games he didn’t usual play.

“I think I’ve waited long enough.” Viktor sat up to make for his shirt again, and was blocked a second time.

“No, no. Not until I say so.”

Viktor’s lips parted. He fell back to the bed, eyes round. “Are you teasing me?”

Yuuri crawled over him, caging Viktor’s head between his arms. He struggled to think of something sexy to say—this wasn’t his forte, even when he was at peak sexual confidence. He got caught up in his thoughts and everything sounded stupid, not unlike how he’d flub jumps when distracted. “Should I… tease you?” Speaking of stupid. _If you’re going to play with him, you have to know what the game is_.

Not that Viktor seemed even slightly phased by the question. If anything, he seemed pleased, and pleasantly surprised, a childish excitement in his eyes. “You’d tease me?”

“I… I could try.”

“Yuuri Katsuki, what have you been up to for the past few weeks?” Coming from anyone else the question would’ve seemed accusatory, but whatever Viktor was implying, he was thrilled at the prospect. He typically reserved his current grin for when food arrived at a restaurant. “What do I have to do to get you to take off your shirt?”

“Uh. Um.” Yuuri swallowed hard. He kept thinking _sexy sexy sexy_ but coming up empty for actual results, go figure. “Sorry, maybe we should just—normal sex is fine—”

“No! I like this! You can do it.” Viktor reached up and tapped his thumb against Yuuri’s cheek. “What do you _want_ me to do?” Affection for Viktor swelled in Yuuri’s chest. He had gotten—stupid lucky, really. “What did you like to think about me doing when we were apart?” Immediately Yuuri had his answer. _I can work with that._

He climbed off Viktor, and settled on the edge of the bed, his knees open. A glance at his crotch, then at Viktor. He undid the top button on his jeans.

A strange, serious expression came over Viktor’s face; he rolled away from Yuuri with a gasp.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asked, quite earnestly, because he didn’t remember that Viktor did… that.

“Yes. I just got very hard very fast.”

Yuuri choked back a laugh as Viktor slid off the end of the mattress, crawling between Yuuri’s legs. Locking eyes with Yuuri, he stroked himself through his sweatpants, and Yuuri ceased laughing. Viktor was hard for him—he could remember what that felt like, and he could remember sitting there in his bed at night, clutching his phone in one hand and himself in the other, aching to be as close to Viktor’s cock as he was right now.  

“You thought about this.”

 _Thought about this_ was the understatement of the century. “You know I did.”

Viktor smirked. Yuuri died a little at that smirk. “I recall it was mentioned,” Viktor murmured, running his hands along the insides of Yuuri’s thighs. They’d talked about a lot on those calls. “Along with other things.” Yuuri remembered saying, _I don’t think this is what they had in mind when they invented FaceTime_.

 “Let’s do them.” It came out of Yuuri as a gasp, as Viktor’s fingers had snuck under his jeans and begun to touch him through his underwear.

“Them?”

“The things we talked about.” He’d wanted nothing more during those late-night calls to be where he was right now, in a bedroom with Viktor, a long free evening ahead of them. In that sense, he was living a fantasy right now—it was hot to wait and pine, kind of, but it was hotter at the end when you got to be together, finally. Even the sound of Viktor’s breathing was driving him crazy. “Make them real.”

Viktor watched him with shiny eyes and spit on his lip. “There were quite a few things.”

“As many of them as we can remember.”

“And if I’ve forgotten something you want?”

Yuuri scooted forward and pressed Viktor’s shoulders toward his crotch, the throbbing in his cock increasingly impatient. “I’ll remind you.”

Viktor smirked again. That was as good as a _yes_. Licking his lips, he gave Yuuri’s crotch a quick appraisal, then made a brief excursion to the nightstand to retrieve a little tube of lubricant. Returning, he settled back between Yuuri’s knees, and went to work pulling his jeans and boxers off his ass.

Yuuri watched with one eye open: Viktor crouched forward and sucked Yuuri through the fabric, kissed up and down the length, lapped at the tip when it escaped past the underwear’s elastic. Yuuri tried to remember what they’d talked about, in terms of Viktor giving head—Viktor was right, there had been… a lot of discussion. And some of it was outlandish, to Yuuri’s moderate sensibilities. He’d encourage things they had never done together because they were just words, and if it sounded hot, that was good enough.

And what he remembered Viktor talking about was… one of those things. Viktor kissed up Yuuri’s stomach, then freed his cock, already embarrassingly red. “Do you remember what I wanted you to do?”

Yuuri nodded. “Are you sure?” Yuuri felt his stomach twisting nervously at the thought, but this was _his_ idea, and Viktor—

Viktor smiled. He was sure.

He gripped the base of Yuuri’s cock and nudged it against his cheek, then kissed it. The whiteness of Viktor’s skin against the pinkness of the cock was arresting, and Yuuri flinched at another pulse of blood to his groin. Viktor chuckled, low and throaty, and ran his tongue along the length of Yuuri’s shaft. He wrapped his lips around the tip, took in inch after inch, bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks—Yuuri’s hips twitched, his jaw dropped, he began to drool. The sucking heat of Viktor’s mouth seemed to crawl up his whole body. It might’ve been the deprivation, or Viktor’s phenomenal skill at giving head, or a combination of the two, but Yuuri knew he would go fast for this one.

Viktor kept going, his hands wrapping around Yuuri’s thighs, not to steady them but to encourage Yuuri’s erratic thrusts up into his mouth. Yuuri struggled not to look at him too closely—he could see in his periphery what Viktor was up to, but having to see _and_ feel it made him want to burst in a second, and he was determined to last a little while longer. Even against the—sucking, wet, hot odds. Fuck.

Viktor popped off him for a moment to ask, “Are you getting there?”

Yuuri made the mistake of glancing down in preparation to answer. Viktor was on his knees, his own cock now free from his sweatpants so he could stroke it; his hair was mussed where Yuuri had inadvertently gripped it, and his cheeks flushed red by arousal; he tongued the tip of Yuuri’s cock and then wrapped his lips back around it, eyes going half-lidded, like he’d never tasted anything better in his life. Yuuri threw his head back and let out a shuddering moan. Right—this was why he’d been getting off for months thinking of this.

“Don’t forget to do it,” Viktor said, a pout in his voice. He pressed a wet kiss to the underside of Yuuri’s cock. “ _Please_.” Tongue against the tip again. “I want you to do it so badly.” Fuck. _Fuck_.

Though his thighs were weak and trembling, and his pants were still mostly on, Yuuri forced himself to stand. Viktor’s face lit up when he did, because this was his little idea: it was two in the morning in Japan and ten in the evening in Russia and Yuuri was jerking himself off while Viktor listened in, and he’d murmured, _I’d love if some time you’d come on my face_. And Yuuri had climaxed immediately, because—Viktor, saying _that_?

Viktor dribbled lube on Yuuri’s palm and guided it to wrap around his cock. When Yuuri began to stroke himself, Viktor leaned forward, eyes closed. He looked patient and angelic and it felt wrong to be… to be ruining him like this, though Yuuri couldn’t stop the motion of his hand as the pressure mounted in his groan, and it was Viktor himself who’d begged for him to do it. Begged for Yuuri to make him dirty. “Please, Yuuri,” Viktor whined, softer than ever. _He wants it_. Yuuri pumped faster—he was nearly there, just a little more. Viktor’s lips parted—a little more, a little faster—he wanted it, and he was beautiful. He had a face that Yuuri, that _anyone_ , would dream about.

Yuuri stiffened and came, hearing Viktor gasp below him. He could process nothing visual apart from the sparks across the inside of his vision. The orgasm took his entire body, curling his toes, and he had to steady himself against Viktor’s shoulder as he emptied himself—his hand couldn’t quite stop moving—or else he might’ve fallen over. This was why he tried not to have orgasms standing up. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the bed behind him.

When he’d recovered enough to open his eyes, he saw Viktor between his knees, grinning at him. A line of cum on his cheek.

Yuuri groaned. Fuck.

“Yuuri,” Viktor purred. “That was so good. Thank you. I feel lucky.”

Somehow Viktor thanking him for coming on his face was just about the filthiest thing he’d heard in his life, and Yuuri wanted to sink into the mattress out of embarrassment. He threw an arm across his face so he wouldn’t have to look anymore.

“What?” came Viktor’s voice, getting closer as Viktor climbed up from the floor and over him. Still Yuuri didn’t move his arm. “What’s the matter?”

“That wasn’t how I expected our first time back together to go.” Or how he’d wanted it to go. The swell of post-orgasm hormones toyed with him, it always did, but he felt exceedingly guilty that their reunion sex act had been… that.

Viktor made a thoughtful noise. His weight shifted away from Yuuri and off the bed. Yuuri peeked around his arm: Viktor was wiping his face with a tissue from the nightstand. “You know, our first time back together isn’t finished.” The mattress bounced when he flopped down beside Yuuri. He didn’t seem even slightly fazed by Yuuri’s unease, and that… well, it helped Yuuri feel at ease again. They’d reached a level of trust and comfort where Viktor adapted to Yuuri’s moods without blinking an eye. _I feel lucky,_ Viktor said, meaning it as sexual performance, but Yuuri understood that sentiment for real. “What’s something you want to do?” Viktor asked, carefully pushing Yuuri’s hair off his forehead.

“You.”

A surprised laugh burst from Viktor. “Ah—I set you up for that.”

“You did.” Yuuri smothered him with a kiss before he could say anything more. He threw a leg over Viktor and straddled him again, pinning his arms over his head—Viktor whimpered into his mouth. Yuuri licked at Viktor’s tongue and lips and then moved down, to his jawline, the elegant sweep of his neck.

Above him, a whine: “You promised you’d take off your shirt if I gave you head.”

Right. Yuuri sat up and pulled off the shirt in haste, which of course meant getting it stuck around his head for a humiliating period. Viktor, giggling breathlessly, had to help free him. “Are you satisfied?” Yuuri huffed, once he’d finally tossed the shirt away.

Viktor dragged him down for another kiss. “Mm, not quite.” This one was slower and deeper and Yuuri’s heart pounded against his ribcage. They were both panting, grinding their hips together in languid motions—Yuuri’s cock started to throb again. He knew he had missed this, this heat, this intimacy, but it was shocking to realize how deep longing ran, into the core of him, pulling up desire from the pit of his stomach that made him feel—animal. He moved on instinct and nothing more. His last orgasm was a distant memory. He returned to their nighttime phone calls, the pit of deprivation. He dragged his teeth along the nape of Viktor’s neck, and drank the moan from his partner’s lips.

Yuuri trailed kisses down Viktor’s chest until he reached the elastic of his lounge pants; he dragged them down and off, Viktor looking on with a hand tangled in his own hair. They had barely attended what was already a sizable erection on Viktor’s part, and so Yuuri went to work. First he kissed up the insides of Viktor’s thighs, white and trembling under his touch. When he took Viktor in his mouth, he listened closely to the gasp above him—a gasp of relief, and gratitude, because this wasn’t an itch twenty minutes in the making—he’d waited two months to feel Yuuri’s mouth again.

While Yuuri bobbed his head, Viktor moaned along with every motion. Yuuri fumbled for the lube and sloppily doused his fingers, wiping the excess against Viktor’s entrance. He’d set his mind on another of those hushed promises made when they were apart—not Viktor’s but his own whim, this time. He released Viktor’s cock, knowing another minute or two would have him coming, and Yuuri wasn’t ready for that yet. He had plans.

He slipped off the edge of the bed, on to his knees, and hooked each of Viktor’s legs over his shoulders. Viktor lifted his head to peer down at Yuuri, who was currently running his hands over Viktor’s hips and ass, tugging him closer.

“What are you up to?” Viktor murmured, amused.

“Another thing we said we’d do.” Yuuri exhaled and his breath skated over Viktor’s ass, making him squirm under Yuuri’s touch. He remembered he was trying to rile Viktor up by mentioning it: Viktor, ever the exhibitionist, had Yuuri watch him fuck himself with a dildo, and all Yuuri could think of (sitting there at his computer with his hand down his pants) was how uncomfortable it seemed, how hard and unfriendly, compared to a person. And Viktor kept glancing smugly into the camera as if to say, _I look good like this, don’t I?_ He did, he—really, _really_ did—so Yuuri had to one up him, of course: _I wish I could use my tongue on you._

He pressed his tongue against Viktor’s entrance and Viktor’s legs closed around his head; a hand fisted his hair. “Yuuri…” But it wasn’t a request to stop, so Yuuri didn’t. He licked Viktor again, and Viktor’s entire body twisted around him, again—he used a finger to open him up enough he could drag his tongue around the rim, and Viktor’s back arched, he muttered something violent in Russian.

“Too much?” Yuuri asked, drawing his finger in and out of Viktor slowly.

“No—” A shuddering exhale. “Keep going. Put it inside.”

Yuuri smiled, teeth on his lip. He nudged his glasses up his nose and crouched closer again, replacing his finger with his tongue.

Though he seemed ready to tear the hair off Yuuri’s head, Viktor’s noise this time was ecstatic, a joyous shout as he lifted off the bed. Yuuri felt his eyes slip closed as he pushed his tongue deeper, just—listening to those sounds, how happy Viktor seemed. This was neither an appropriate or convenient time to be overcome with affection, but he couldn’t fight the thing beating on the inside of his chest. He wanted them to be together—as together as two people could be—he wanted it _now_. He pulled his tongue from Viktor, letting him catch his breath, and pressed his face against Viktor’s stomach. “Viktor, I need you.” He could hardly contain himself, his hips twitched at the thought of Viktor around him.

Fingers dug into his shoulder, pleading fingers. “Quickly— _please_.”

Yuuri took _quickly_ to heart—he climbed up Viktor’s body, leaving fleeting, sloppy, wet kisses along his chest. There was no time for anything more careful. They forgot their teasing and their games. They had waited so long, not another second would do.

Yuuri kicked off his jeans and boxers all the way. In his haste, he squirted an excessive amount of lube on his cock, and as he went to line himself up with Viktor’s entrance, his hands were slipping ridiculously, leaving shiny tracks on Viktor’s hips and thighs. “Do it,” Viktor gasped, his breathing shallow, not even a little embarrassed by the messiness. “I’m ready.” Spreading his legs, he reached forward and his hand brushed Yuuri’s arm, ever so slightly; even his brief touch seemed to deliver reassurance and urgency, as intimate as a kiss. “Yuuri…” The way Viktor said his name when they were alone, it rained down feeling on him, memories of a dozen times and places he’d heard it uttered before. The way Viktor said his name was—reverence and delight and gratitude. It was _loving_. He said it with love.

Yuuri pushed inside of him. They groaned in tandem. The deeper he went, the tighter Viktor’s heat became around him, constricting his breathing, narrowing his vision. It was unbelievable—he couldn’t imagine how he’d gone so long without this. He leaned over Viktor and watched his eyes go unfocused, lips parted and mouthing nonsense, almost like he’d left this world altogether. Which made Yuuri wonder where he’d gone, and if he would agree to come back for a while.

Inserted to his hips now, Yuuri leaned down, toward Viktor’s mouth. “I guess you don’t want me to kiss you.” He tried a little thrust and Viktor inhaled sharply.

“I… It’s…” Yuuri thrust again. “Kiss me. I don’t care. I want you to.”

So Yuuri did. Viktor wrapped an arm around his neck and held him close while their mouths moved together, all tongues and teeth and nothing restrained, because they had no reason for that, no cause to hold back. They were together again and would be together for a long time now—forever. Now was the beginning of forever. Yuuri felt for Viktor’s hand on the bed beside them, and laced their fingers together. His eyes were closed, but he could see Viktor’s ring glinting in his mind’s eye.

Viktor moaned softly into Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri thrust into him hard, but it was the words tumbling from his mouth that showed the dearth of his appreciation for Viktor’s sounds: “I missed you.” Viktor answered with another moan. “I love you.” Viktor’s free hand cupped his face, and their eyes locked, and in the midst of this heated, rushed, relatively quiet sex, time slowed down. Or maybe it stopped, hard to say—all Yuuri knew was that, for a brief second, he didn’t think he had a body, he didn’t know sexual pleasure. The world narrowed to a voice, and a smiling face.

“I love you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri kissed him again. _This_ , this was what he’d expected from their first time back together. Hundreds of phone calls, an orgasm, a gold medal. None of it mattered in the light of Viktor loving him, and him loving Viktor. It was something time could never take from them.

He pulled himself up, and fucked Viktor well, how he deserved to be fucked. He didn’t bother with delicacy, waiting, drawing it out. It had been drawn out long enough now—there came a point where he simply had to let go and give Viktor the fucking of his life. And he let him have everything, every ounce of his energy and care and passion. He held him up by his hips and drove into him again and again. Viktor had always appreciated his stamina, and he was loving it now. His face contorting, he pumped himself rapidly along with Yuuri’s thrusts, and the noises he made under his breath meant he was getting close.

So Yuuri moved faster—the speed worked for both of them, it turned out, because rather suddenly Yuuri felt the heat in his groin blooming—he was close too. He grunted and tried to keep steady, to last for Viktor who was still jerking himself off, but his hips had a mind of their own. They jerked erratically, and he drove into Viktor once, twice, then came hard on the third thrust, biting his lip enough to draw blood. But it was good—the pain was a little bit good too—he tasted blood and saw stars, and maybe he went somewhere, too, the place Viktor had gone before. He’d had orgasms when they were apart, of course, he had one minutes ago, but none felt like this, so _total_. His body trembled with the force of the climax, and he could no longer hold himself up over Viktor. He collapsed forward, forehead against Viktor’s shoulder, heaving deep breaths. It might’ve been minutes before he could think straight enough to worry for Viktor’s needs.

It was not a necessary worry. As soon as he sat up a little, he watched Viktor, eyes closed, come on his stomach by his own hand with Yuuri still inside him. Just by looking at him, Yuuri would’ve said he’d barely felt the orgasm, aside from the slight lift of his brow and the perfect O formed by his lips. He squeaked his eyes open, but barely seemed to see Yuuri. He blinked a few times and a couple of stray tears rolled down his cheeks.

Yuuri pulled out slowly, then laid on the bed beside Viktor. They were naked and silent, neither fully recovered from what they’d just experienced. For a minute, Yuuri didn’t know if he would ever remember _how_ to speak. The pink roses were completely crushed.

Then he felt the weight beside him shift. Viktor curled against him. “My Yuuri.” He pressed his face into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, and in turn Yuuri wound his arms around Viktor’s chest. He kissed Viktor’s cheek. After several minutes, Viktor dozed off, but Yuuri felt filthy from the plane and the sex and couldn’t bring himself to sleep. Every corner of him was buzzing. He slipped out from under Viktor and pulled a blanket over him, having to pluck away some stray rose petals from his hair, then grabbed fresh clothes and crept out of the bedroom.

Wanting to wake neither Viktor nor Makkachin, Yuuri tiptoed around the apartment and through his first shower in Viktor’s bathroom. He had no shampoo or soap and couldn’t read the Russian labels on Viktor’s products, so it was touch-and-go in terms of cleaning up. He encountered the same difficulty in the kitchen, until he opened a cabinet and found a wall of food with labels in Japanese. All his favorites from back home. Viktor had gone shopping for him, probably at some expensive specialty store. Yuuri opened another drawer and found the spices, each with their regular Russian label, then a smaller handwritten note pasted on with the name in English and (horribly written) Japanese. Oh, Viktor. He always got excessive when he… cared.

Yuuri set about fixing a small meal, just enough for the two of them, and some scraps for Makkachin. The apartment began to smell like food instead of flowers. Yuuri found an apron in a hall closet and put it on, hoping to give Viktor a chuckle when he woke.

And, when Viktor emerged from the bedroom in a robe, he did smile if not laugh at the sight of Yuuri already settled into his kitchen. “How lovely,” he said, coming over to peek into the pot on the stove. “I could get used to this, I think.”

Hunched over a chopping board, Yuuri shrugged. “I was hungry.” But he was smiling too.

“If you’re hungry, you should eat.”

“I’m trying.”

Viktor chuckled. A beat of silence passed, and Yuuri started to glance back at him, but Viktor preempted him by wrapping an arm around his chest from behind. He hugged Yuuri tightly, the embrace familiar and welcome. Yuuri leaned back into him and listened to the rattle of a deep voice in his ear: “ _Lyubov moya_. Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> eventually i'll write a viktuuri smut that isn't yuuri topping from yuuri's pov... eventually.


End file.
